Page 11 of Cry of Blood and Joy
I inhaled deeply, filtering the air for familiar scents.Where are you, Angelo?The metallic tang of his cologne, the leather of his limousine seats, the copper scent that always followed his men—none of it tainted the morning breeze. Only the earthy musk of the Garden District and the sweet perfume of blooming magnolia trees.
My fingers dug into the oak’s bark as I scanned the street again.
Nothing.
Just the distant hum of air conditioning units and the rhythmic thock of a sprinkler system watering the mansion’s pristine lawn. But Angelo’s absence felt wrong, like static on a clear radio signal. He should be here. He was always watching, always hunting.
At the gate, Keir’s guards shifted their weight, the subtle movement catching my enhanced vision. Their heartbeats pulsed steady and strong—immortal rhythms that sang of warm blood and ancient life, yet there was something else threaded through those beats, something that hummed with otherworldly power. The morning sunlight glistened off their platinum-blond hair—so pale it was almost white—highlighted the sharp angles of their ethereal faces. Beautiful and terrible, like all their kind.
Unseelie. Dark Fae.
Even from this distance, I could see the way shadows seemed to cling to the figures despite the bright morning light, pooling at their feet like loyal pets. Their skin held that telltale luminescentquality that marked all creatures of the Elder Dimension—too perfect, too still, like living marble sculptures that had learned to breathe. One turned his head slightly, and I recognized him—Ruin. The name suited him perfectly; everything about the Unseelie whispered of destruction barely held in check. He’d been guarding Keir’s gate the last time I’d come here, those same cold silver eyes tracking my every movement like a predator sizing up prey.
And I was definitely a threat.
My jaw clenched, fangs threatening to descend. I couldn’t lurk in these shadows forever, paralyzed by paranoia and doubt. The morning was advancing, and with each passing hour, the truth I desperately needed slipped further from my grasp.
Keir had the answers. He had to. I straightened, rolling my shoulders back as predatory instinct overrode caution. The power that had sustained me through centuries of darkness stirred beneath my skin, ancient enough now to walk freely in the light that would destroy younger vampires.
It was time to pay the Court of Thorns a visit.
I slowly emerged from my hiding place, ready to fight Angelo’s men if I was wrong. The guards immediately focused their gazes on me. One of them took a bow off his back and nocked an arrow on it. They were probably far better at using their bows and arrows than using a sword or even a gun.
Ruin met my gaze. The flash of his eyes held no warmth, only the cold calculation of a predator assessing threats. The other guard was unfamiliar, younger perhaps, with the restless energy of someone eager to prove himself through violence. It was his bow that was already drawn, arrow nocked and aimed directly at my heart with supernatural steadiness.
My muscles tensed as I faced the guards, the rough bark of the oak still clinging to my jacket. The morning air suddenly felt thicker, charged with the electric anticipation that alwayspreceded bloodshed. That arrowhead gleamed in the sunlight—iron, no doubt, designed to hurt creatures like me.
Ruin’s head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring as he caught my scent. He knows. My reputation preceded me like the stench of old graves, and I could see the recognition flickering behind those inhuman eyes. His hand drifted toward the obsidian blade at his hip—not quite a threat, but close enough to make my fangs ache with the urge to descend.
“Surprised to see you, Di Salvo,” Ruin said, his voice carrying that distinctive fae lilt that made every word sound like a half-sung curse. The corners of his mouth curved upward in what might have been a smile on anyone else, but on him looked like a promise of pain. “You’re a man without a family right now. Santi’s put a price on your head.”
The words slammed into me like an eighteen-wheeler. Fuck. Was Angelo here? Had I walked straight into a trap? My jaw clenched so hard I heard my teeth grind together, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. Years of surviving in the supernatural underworld had taught me that showing weakness was as good as signing your own death warrant.
I kept my movements deliberately slow and controlled, hyperaware of the archer’s finger resting on the bowstring. One wrong move and I’d have an iron-tipped arrow buried in my chest that would take weeks to heal, time I didn’t have. I rolled my shoulders back, letting my hands hang loose at my sides—ready to move, ready to kill if necessary, but careful not to give them an excuse to lose that arrow. The familiar weight of my own blade pressed against my ribs, a comforting reminder I wasn’t defenseless. Then I let a slow, predatory smile spread across my lips, the kind that had made grown men wet themselves in terror.
“Let’s just say I’ve gone independent,” I drawled, injecting just enough amusement into my voice to sound convincing whilemy enhanced hearing strained for any sign of Angelo’s approach. “I need to speak with Keir. Now.”
Ruin locked his gaze with mine, those silver eyes boring into me like twin blades seeking weaknesses in my armor. The weight of his stare pressed against my consciousness, a fae trick meant to unnerve and intimidate. I held steady, refusing to blink first.
My whole body shifted into combat mode, screaming at me to move—to blur past them with vampire speed, to tear through that iron gate with my bare hands and force my way into the Court of Thorns. My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to wrap around throats and squeeze until bones cracked. The predator in me snarled at being kept waiting, at being questioned by creatures who should know better than to stand in my way.
But I forced myself to remain statue-still, drawing on centuries of hard-learned patience. My breathing stayed controlled and even, each exhale deliberate and measured. The archer’s bowstring creaked slightly as he adjusted his grip, the sound sharp in the steamy morning air.
Recklessness usually equaled defeat. The mantra had kept me alive through wars, betrayals, and countless enemies who’d underestimated the value of restraint. I wasn’t some fledgling vampire driven by bloodlust and fury—I was here for information, for answers that would keep Joy safe.
I was here for the win.
My smile never wavered, even as my fangs pressed against my lower lip, desperate to descend. “Tick tock, Ruin,” I said softly, my voice carrying just enough menace to remind them exactly who they were dealing with. “If there’s a bounty on my head, don’t you think Keir would want to collect it?”
Chapter Eight
Enzo
Ruin narrowed his eyes as he whipped out his phone. “Keir? Enzo Di Salvo is here.” His face tightened. “Yes, my lord.”
I could hear Keir talking, and he sounded curious about what I had to say.
Ruin slid his phone back into his jacket and tilted his head. “I assume you know the way.”
